The stories of the children from district 12
by sjbakedbean94
Summary: We know the stories of Peeta and Katniss but isn't it about time we find out the stories of their children?
1. Initialization

RUN. I run through the meadow. The grass brushing at my ankles as my legs move so swiftly over the ground. My long, dark brown hair whipping me in the face and getting caught in my eyelashes. I need to get away. Away from that school, away from the Seam, away from my brother, away from mum and dad. I need some space. To breath.

I hit the edge of the woods, the new woods as mum calls them. She used to know the old ones before they burnt down in the fire when she was younger. I knew the new ones, the smell of fresh rain landing on a leaf, where I should place my foot on the different terrains, how to climb a tree. I didn't stop, over fallen trees, stumps, a dead dear half eaten by something bigger than itself. There's plenty of things that are so much bigger than me. NO. I don't want to think just yet.

I stumble a little as I slow because of my thoughts, my feet pick themselves back up again and propel me forward. Tree, bush, stone, frog, flying pigeon, all go past me without me giving a second thought. I don't really think about the noise I'm making at that moment (something I am normally so very cautious about) I need to be in the branches of my favourite and safest tree.

I turn left. Right. Forward. Left. Left again. Right. Then there it is, right in front of me is my safe point. I jump onto the base, finding my hand and foot wells that seem to be a natural part of the tree now that they have been overused. Within 5 minutes I am at the highest point of the tree that you can sit comfortably and safely without falling to your death if a bird or a squirrel happened to jump out on you.

To the West is District 11, a tower peak is just accessible to the naked eye on a clear day. But today is not one of those days, especially in my head. Now I know that I can think this through on my own, uninterrupted I can breathe. Slow my heart, my pace down. The adrenaline begins to dismiss itself from my blood stream. The river flows beneath me and my tree, from my vantage point I can see a few fish, what look like Salmon passing our waters in their search of a mate and I would guess a mating ground. Small water birds with long legs are stalking their way through the water, the current breaking gently at their ankles, their heads are down, breaking and digesting the Katnip weed that grows so well in the waters that flow on the land of District 12. The weed always holds strong connotations to me, I can remember learning all about it in my first year of school...

School.

All of everything I had learnt in the last 10 minutes before I broke free of the classroom and the confinement of the school suddenly came flying back to me. It nearly knocked me out of the tree with the power of a forest cat. Katnip, Katniss, mum, the hunger games.

I always knew there was something called the hunger games, you heard all the older kids telling you that if you didn't behave yourself at school then they would reinstate them and then you would straighten right out. But up until today I had no clue what they actually were.

In the space of 10 minutes I had found out:

**1 minute**: _In the old days on Panem there used to be such things as the Hunger Games._

We knew this.

**2 minutes**: _It would consist of 12 boys and 12 girls. _

There had been rumours about how many children that took part, ranging from 12 all together to 12 from each district.

**3 minutes**: _A boy and girl were picked from each district, from a bowl full of names of every child aged between 12-18. _

Hmmm, 12, really?

**4 minutes: **_District 12 was always the one that came last, _

Oh really, wonder why? It's not like we have skilled people in our district.

**5 minutes: **_in both the screening and also the competition itself. _

Really?Death? Huh?

**7 minutes: **_The tributes (the boys and girls picked) would fight each other until there was only one survivor,_

Bloody hell, why would anyone think this was a good idea?

**8 minutes: **_we only have three victors that come from right here in District 12._

They must have been really good!

**9 minutes: **_Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the 50th hunger games._

Uncle Haymitch?

**10 minutes: **_and Pete Mallack and Katniss Everdeen, now Mallack, victors of the 74th hunger games._

Dad. Mum.

Everyone looks at me. Me, Rosy Mallack.


	2. How could they

I sit in the tree a little longer, picking leaves off the side of the small branch next to me. The twig was almost not real as I sat there. The last 10 seconds of my life that I had just recapped in my head I couldn't get rid of. It's stuck there like the way that a big cat sticks with its prey. Looking over everything I guess what I had just been told sort of just fits.

Mum had never been the same as all the other mums. She was always quiet, the other mums would talk to her when they were picking children up from school but at the end of the day you could see that they never really talked to her. She always seemed to be put apart from the rest. As though she was shunned for some reason, almost like she had some type of a disease. Now I find out that the only thing wring with her in the end was that she was one of the unfortunate ones that ended up having to compete in the Hunger Games.

The name used to freak me out alone. Hunger games, I mean, the word hunger doesn't really make you feel all that great. It used to creep me out when I was little. When you first find out about the games way back when your little you just presume it's a thing of the past. But I guess now it means now that it's always going to be in mine. It's there now. Lingering.

How am I going to be able to face mum now. Dad's easy, I know he will understand that I would have been told at school and one day I would have also been told that both my parents were a part of the games of the past. Mum wouldn't even let me and Charlie talk about it when he found out at school. Dad would talk to both me and my brother about it. It made us feel a little bit better. Mum would start shaking, then she would have to go out the room. Anywhere but near us. She couldn't show us, let us see that the games affected her, let us see that she was afraid of something that we only knew about in theory.

A deer struts past, they do this a lot when they don't think anyone is watching. Almost in the end they're the ones that are in charge. I knew that if I had my bow I would be able to shoot this one and take it to the market. Should I really do that now? I mean, is it because I'm naturally good at hunting or is it just because of who my parents are? When you think about it they have killed, not because they want to but because they had too. No wonder mum always shook. Can you think about killing another person? I know I certainly can't.

My parents did though.

How?

No.

Another human should never take another humans life.

No.

I don't think I want to go home. Why should I?

Footfalls in the wood enlighten to me the fact I have a visitor. I listen. Hard. Nothing, as though they have just disappeared. I only know of one other person that can hide like I can. Mum. I slide down the trunk of my tree to reach the ground. Landing on the balls of my feet I don't make a noise. I follow the normal footfalls we would take. Up the hill, past the river view and to the top where I know she will be.

I reach out spot. The one where she took me first time I went into the woods. The first time she showed me how to shoot and arrow straight, when she hid my bow in the same tree trunk as hers.

There she was. On her own. Flipping something in her hand. I drew closer, the thing in her hand caught the sun and the glean that it took from the sun shot back into my eyes. I cried out suddenly and shortly, but enough for mum to know where I was and that I needed help. She moved off the ground smoothly and quickly, reached me in seconds. Up in her embrace I went. Safe. Then BANG. We hit the floor.

I couldn't remember what had happened but I knew for certain that mum had pulled me down. I was now sandwiched between her and the ground. Something was hitting the floor. They were too far away. Then a whistle passed me. Shit. Was that an arrow?


	3. Stems and Thorns

As I stared at the arrow I noticed little things like an emblem edged into the whittled wood. It was some type of flower. I crawled closer to it, leaving only my feet under my mum. I took the arrow from the loose soil. Looking closer I could see the flower more clearly now. Its petals delicately placed around the head, the stem strong and sudden from the petals, and there on the that stem were two thorns that made the flower what it was. A rose.

Mum had told me from when I was really little that rose's were bad flowers. That some ladies loved them but they were the flowers that were to never be trusted. This is how I knew this rose was bad. The arrows had stopped flying towards us, me and mum got up, the arrow I still had clutched in my hand. It felt like a rose, I could almost feel the thorns digging into my hand as I carry what could have ended our lives.

We both move up a tree. Moving so fast, faster than normal. Some people would say we had cornered ourselves but we both knew that we both feel much safer in a tree. Up with the birds and their nests. Somewhere not a lot of people can get too.

We both stay quietly, holding our breath almost. We hear a crunch of boots snapping twigs and leaves. I wonder if they knew they were stalking a winner of the hunger games. And if so, why did they want to be loud. Surely you would try and make as little noise that was possible. But no, they were letting out as much noise that was possible with their massive black army boots. I looked over to mum. Her long, dark hair was tied up in a plait behind her. The end had swung over her shoulder now, one strand had fallen over her face. She looked up at me, pressed one finger to her lips. I did the same, just like when we were playing games in the wood when I was a little girl. We watched the men trudge through the wood, their bows hooked over one shoulder and held on their chests.

"Come on Katniss. The capital would like a little word with you" One of the men, the bigger one, shouted out to the trees, the animals and me and mum.

We both looked at each other, mum motioned for me to stay in the tree. I did. I still had in my hand the arrow that these men had fired at us. I was glad I had it now, something to make me feel protected. Specially as now mum was moving down the tree to meet with the men. She stalked behind them, they didn't know she was there until she had a log in one of their backs. I watched her carefully, ready to help if needed. They spoke quietly, a lot of the shaking of mum's head. The suddenly, the grabbed her.

Without even thinking I cried out, I knew it was the wrong choice because as soon as I had stopped the scream moving out of me the men had seen me. One kept hold of my mum, the other started running toward my tree.

I jumped from my tree to another close by. Hoping from one close tree to another the man tried to follow me on the wood floor. He kept falling over roots from trees that had emerged from the soil, the early fallen leaves had become wet in the afternoon dew on the floor and his big, heavy, loud boots were no good to him. Not in my territory. But then I stopped concentrating as I took note of where he was, misjudged my jump to the next tree and missed the branch.

Falling.

I tried to grab anything I could. I could see the floor getting closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. Then suddenly my hand found a branch, I grabbed hold. But it was too low, the man had caught up with me and now with just a reach above his head he grabbed my foot and help me upside down.

"Now what do we have here?" he asked, grinning.


End file.
